HILDERSHAM.
Alas, good knights, how might the matter be?
Let me understand your grief for Charity.
SIR ARTHUR.
Who does not understand my griefs? Alas, alas!
And yet ye do not! Will the Church permit
A nun in approbation of her habit
To be ravished?
HILDERSHAM.
A holy woman, benedicite!
Now God forfend that any should presume
To touch the sister of a holy house.
SIR ARTHUR.
Jesus deliver me!
SIR RAPH.
Why, Millisent, the daughter of this Knight
Is out of Chesson taken the last night.
HILDERSHAM.
Was that fair maiden late become a nun?
SIR RAPH. Was she, quotha? Knavery, knavery, knavery; I smell it, I smell it, yfaith; is the wind in that door? is it even so? doost thou ask me that now?
HILDERSHAM.
It is the first time that I ere heard of it.
SIR ARTHUR.
That's very strange.
SIR RAPH. Why, tell me, Friar, tell me; thou art counted a holy man; do not play the hypocrite with me, nor bear with me. I cannot dissemble: did I ought but by thy own consent? by thy allowance? nay, further, by thy warrant?